GIFT   OF 
Glass  of  1900 


THE 
VILLAGE  STREET 

AND 

OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

FREDERICK  FAUST 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Imfcfterbocfcer 

1922 


Copyright,    1922, 

by 
Frederick  Faust 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


^    v     ft- 


1 


I   1  K) 


CO 
THOMAS  DOWNEY 


480023 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  VILLAGE  STREET  .....         3 

SONNET       .......  5 

THE  TORCHES 6 

To  A  LADY 7 

ON  A  GRECIAN  FUNERAL  MONUMENT  .          .          .         9 
YOUTH         .....  .10 

HOPE 11 

THE  LAST  ADVENTURE          .  .       12 

THE  SKYLARK     ....  .13 

BROOKLYN  BRIDGE  IN  A  SEA-FOG          ...       15 

THE  PARTING 16 

A  SONG 17 

LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER   ....   18 

SUNDAY   ...    .    .    .    .    .    .35 

THE  LITTLE  MEN        ...  .37 

[v] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BUCCANEER          .......  39 

THE  STARS          .......  43 

FAIRYLAND.          .......  44 

THE  SECRET 47 

BALIN'S  SONG  TO  HIS  SWORD        ....  53 

BALIN  54 


vi] 


The  Village  Street 

and 

Other  Poems 


THE  VILLAGE  STREET 

WAIT  for  the  time  bet  ween  the  day  and  night 
When  up  and  down  the  street 
The  pavements  have  grown  soft  with  yellow  light, 
And  garden  airs  are  sweet. 

Wait  for  a  wind  that  moves  so  lazily 

It  hardly  lifts  the  scent 
Of  honeysuckle  or  acacia  tree 

With  golden  blossoms  bent. 

Wait  till  the  red  geraniums  on  the  wall 

Are  dim  beneath  the  blue 
Of  the  steep  shadow,  and  the  elm  trees  tall 

Take  on  a  dusky  hue. 

Then  out  of  sacred  silence,  early  or  late, 

Be  sure  a  song  will  flower, 
For  there  is  music  somewhere,  if  we  wait. 

Yes,  in  the  quiet  hour. 
[3] 


THE  VILLAGE  STREET 

The  human  magic  of  some  voice  at  last 

Will  come  to  us,  half -heard, 
Men  speaking,  woman's  laughter  blowing  past, 

Or  child's  call,  like  a  bird. 

Then  close  your  eyes;  your  spirit  will  have  wings 

To  blow  in  dreams  away, 
The  dearest  and  the  saddest  of  all  things — 

The  dreams  we  have  by  day. 


[4] 


SONNET 

rE  ages  now  pass  by  her  unaware 
And  decades  are  like  seconds  in  her  sleep, 
With  bridegroom  death  leaning  to  watch  her  there, 
Pale  for  the  wedding,  and  the  dream  how  deep ! 

She  was  so  young,  so  thrilling  young  and  fair, 
How  strange  it  is  that  for  her  sake  we  weep ! 
Lo,  in  her  sleeve  the  silken  ripples  creep, 
And  the  wind  trembles  in  her  shining  hair. 

Yet  little  is  our  sorrow  now,  and  pain. 
New  grief  is  weak  as  fresh  wine  from  the  press. 
A  day  shall  come,  too  bitter  for  belief, 
When  we  shall  seem  to  hear  her  voice  again! 

Let  us  remember  then,  in  midst  of  grief, 
That  she  was  loveliest  in  her  silences. 


[5] 


THE  TORCHES 

HPORCHBEARER  Spring   rushes   across   the 
•••          earth 

With  smoke  of  petals  whirling  in  the  wind, 
And  all  the  naked  orchards  flush  with  bloom 
Until  the  verdure  washes  from  the  hills. 

Torchbearer  Love  so  runs  upon  our  life, 

A  thrilling  moment,  a  transfigured  face, 

And  then  the  common  sense  of  common  things 

Returns,  and  in  the  place  of  loveliness 

That  pains  the  heart,  there  is  a  sense  of  growth, 

A  putting  forth  of  leaf,  while  on  the  ground 

The  withered  petals  drift. 

Of  their  pale  beauty, 

Where  is  the  fragrance  gone  that  brought  the  bee 
Questing  upon  a  wind  unhar vested? 


[6] 


TO  A  LADY 

A  CHARMING  ghost  attends  your  silences 
For  in  the  hush  a  turning  of  your  head, 
A  lifting  of  the  hand,  or  smile,  reveals 
A  gleam,  a  hope  of  that  enchanting  soul. 

It  is  not  you.     You  are  the  precious  glass 

Through  which  I  peer  and  far  away  behold 

A  star  washed  by  the  loneliness  of  heaven. 

Into  the  holy  pause,  into  the  quiet 

She  steps  with  footfall  sounding  on  my  heart; 

She  comes,  my  love,  my  lady  unpossessed 

In  robes  that  run  like  music  on  the  wind 

And  beauty  like  the  sunlight  dropping  yellow 

On  a  still  water  where  the  images 

Of  pleasant  branches  float. 

I  heard  her  first 

When  first  I  heard  your  voice.     I  turned  in  haste 
Looking  for  her,  and  only  saw  your  face. 
[7] 


TO  A  LADY 

So  in  your  silences  she  still  returns, 
A  ghost,  indeed,  who  lives  for  me  alone. 
And  pain  takes  hold  on  me  when  I  remember 
That  death  for  me  for  her  is  darkness  also; 
And  then  my  fingers  tremble  with  desire 
To  raise  the  mallet,  grasp  the  chisel  sharp, 
And  give  her  immortality  in  stone. 
But  who  can  render  in  the  marble  dead 

The  quality  of  flame? 

I  were  content 

If  she  could  be  translated  to  a  song, 
But  I,  who  hear  the  music,  cannot  sing. 


[8] 


ON  A  GRECIAN  FUNERAL 
MONUMENT 

ALONG  the  gallery  the  dead  endure 
In  stone,  cat-headed  goddesses  of  Nile 
Or  Roman  busts  in  gloomy  porphyry 
Until  I  come  to  the  familiar  place 
Of  Sostrate  bending  her  lovely  head. 
Time  has  destroyed  and  broken  much,  or  blurred, 
Still  she  is  Sostrate  behind  a  veil. 
The  honeybloom  is  fresh  upon  her  lips, 
Beneath  the  robe  I  feel  the  taken  breath; 
White  spirit!  she  is  still  among  the  years 
Of  laughing  youth  unspent. 

How  many  come 

Since  then,  O  Sostrate,  how  many  come 
Like  me,  and  for  the  peace  upon  your  brow 
Pay  with  a  deep  unrest  and  sense  of  doom. 


YOUTH 

T V  ZINGED,  it  seemed,  by  the  white  spray, 

W       She  galloped  her  horse  by  the  sea  to-day. 
With  yellow  hair  like  a  blowing  light, 
With  laughter  rippling  in  her  flight, 
She  passed  between  the  sea  and  sky 
Like  a  note  of  music  high. 

Beside  old  ocean,  such  laughter  wild! 

She  is  half  woman  and  half  child, 

I  think,  and  so,  my  lady  dear, 

Ride  on,  ride  on  through  the  golden  year 

For  the  garden  is  watched   where  the  flowers 

grow 
And  the  buds  are  plucked  before  they  blow. 

She  has  passed,  and  in  another  place 
Surely  I  shall  not  know  her  face 
But  I  shall  remember  the  lifting  wave, 
The  blue  sky,  and  her  head  so  brave. 
[10] 


HOPE 

HOPES,  like  children  in  our  dreams, 
Have  voices  that  are  still; 
Their  murmurs  never  touch  the  ear 
But  hungry  hearts  they  fill. 

Their  shadow  hands,  their  misty  eyes 

Too  lovely  for  belief — 
O  beauty,  what  a  pain  is  thine; 

O  poison-wine  of  grief! 


[in 


THE  LAST  ADVENTURE 

HE  has  stepped  lightly  on  the  long  road  out, 
The  grey  road,  old  with  dust, 
The  stern  road,  never-ending  as  our  doubt, 
For  he  was  strong  in  trusts. 

That  as  it  ran,  whither  he  could  not  know, 

It  might  dip  now  and  then 
Into  great  vales  where  speaking  rivers  go, 

Un vexed  by  ships  of  men; 

That  it  would  lead  him,  neither  slow  nor  fast 

But  at  a  proper  pace, 
Into  the  upland  silences,  at  last, 

Quiet  before  God's  face. 


THE  SKYLARK 

BETWEEN  the  daylight  and  the  dark 
How  swift  the  heaven-aspiring  lark ! 
Wild-hearted  poet,  he  found  the  wealth 
Of  the  singing  birds,  and  drained  by  stealth 
The  jewels  of  dew  which  brim  the  lip 
Of  the  woodland  lily  where  swallows  sip, 
And  nightingale  and  thrush  have  quaffed 
The  honey- wine  of  that  chilly  draught. 

One  drop  is  joy  for  a  day  and  a  year 

But  the  lark  drank  all  the  magic  clear. 

He  tasted  pure  beauty,  he  tasted  pure  pain, 

So  madness  rushed  upon  his  brain 

And  drove  him  up  the  mountain-sky 

Past  the  hawk  that  beats  his  wing  on  high. 

With  rustling  manes  around  him  shaken, 
The  horses  of  the  wind  awaken 
While  up  and  up  he  circles  free 
[13] 


THE  SKYLARK 

Through  a  void  of  ecstasy 

And  on  and  on  in  round  on  round 

Till,  silence! 

Think  you  he  has  found 

White  heaven  like  a  burst  of  song 

Frozen  into  towers  strong? 

No,  he  plunges  from  the  height 

Unseen,  into  the  lower  night 

And  quivering  lies  beside  the  leaf 

Where  the  cricket  sings  his  lyrics  brief. 

We  think  him  still,  with  strength  unspent, 

Aloft  in  silence  of  content, 

And  still  beyond  the  stars  we  stare, 

Earthbound,  and  dream  that  God  is  there. 


[14] 


BROOKLYN   BRIDGE  IN   THE   SEA-FOG 


T^HE  river  under  mist  is  silver  flowing, 
•*•      And  black  the  ripple  running  on  the  tide  ; 
The  half  -seen  towers  go  up  on  either  side, 

White  forms,   with   golden   windows   faintly 
glowing. 

Now  springs  the  bridge,  light  as  a  rising  hawk, 
And  leaps  into  the  night  —  a  broken  span 

With  end  unseen.     So  may  the  God-in-  Man 
Bridge  the  dim  spaces  where  my  soul  would 
walk. 


15] 


THE  PARTING 

WHAT  will  you  do  when  the  wind  at  night 
Shrills  in  the  chimney  high? 
I  shall  sit  by  the  fire  and  fill  my  sight 
With  the  flames  that  slacken  and  die. 

But  there  is  a  picture  in  your  hall, 

Fairest,  you  said  of  the  fair  ? 
I  shall  raise  a  curtain  and  cover  all, 

Throat,  and  lips,  and  hair. 

But  what  of  the  watch-hours  in  your  bed 

With  only  the  cold  to  keep? 
I  shall  never  turn  my  head, 

Thinking  that  I  sleep. 


16 


A  SONG 

WHEN  the  almond  trees  are  sweet 
With  blossoms  pale  as  foam, 
We'll  walk  together  to  the  church 
And  walk  together  home; 

Some  evening  when  the  almond  bloom, 

The  earliest  of  the  year, 
Is  falling  slowly,  spirit-soft, 

On  you  and  me,  my  dear; 

Some  evening  when  the  wind  is  hushed 
And  both  our  hearts  are  still 

For  wonder  that  so  large  a  world 
Should  hold  so  little  ill. 


17] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

I 

THE  QUEST 

"/CRAVEN  hearts  are  beggared  hearts; 

^-/     No  coward  shall  be  my  lord 
But  Satan  shall  my  master  be, 

Whose  name  is  like  a  sword." 

So  giant  Offerus  walked  the  world 

Asking  on  every  road 
What  man  had  seen  the  devil's  face 

Or  knew  that  king's  abode. 

They  pointed  to  the  tempest  black 
And  called  it  the  devil's  breath; 

The  lightning  wandering  through  the  sky 

Was  the  glance  of  the  king  of  death. 

[181 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

So  on  a  day  in  a  woodland  dark 

When  a  storm  through  heaven  poured, 

He  raised  his  hands  to  the  whirling  clouds 
And  the  king  of  death  adored. 

Then  hushed  the  shouting  of  the  wind. 

The  heavy  thunder  whist. 
The  lofty  trees  like  phantoms  moved 

In  a  silver  drifting  mist. 

A  shape  drew  near,  moth-white  it  was, 

With  wings  about  it  flowing 
Like  spiderwebs  that  shine  with  dew 

When  the  wind  of  dawn  is  blowing. 

Cold  into  the  giant  ran. 

His  tongue  was  thick  with  fear. 
Yet  he  called  unto  the  shade, 

Bidding  his  lord  appear. 

The  fog  rolled  out  of  the  blue,  blue  sky 

With  the  yellow  sun  a-flood; 
Music  swelled  in  the  giant's  throat 

And  tingled  in  his  blood. 
[19] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

And  the  devil  appeared  as  a  tinker  tall 
With  weather-brown  features  harsh, 

His  eye  as  quick,  his  foot  as  light 
As  wild-fire  on  the  marsh. 

Upon  the  arm  of  Offerus 

His  bony  hand  doth  rest. 
He  looketh  into  Offerus 

To  the  heart  within  his  breast. 

"Lo,  I  am  a  friend  to  friendly  men 
And  a  comrade  to  the  strong. 

He  who  blithely  walks  through  life 
I  help  him  swift  along. 

"To  each  his  will.     Unto  the  one 
I  spacious  wealth  bequeath 

And  for  the  upward  lifted  brow 
Undying  laurel  wreathe. 

"Then  let  your  dreams  come  rioting 

Into  the  light  of  day. 
Shame  is  a  ghost  to  frighten  fools 

And  the  world  is  made  for  play. " 
[20] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

But  Offerus  said:  "I  only  ask 

For  deeds  to  fill  my  hands: 
Adventure  over  the  wild  sea 

And  battle  in  far  lands." 

Straightway  there  murmured  on  the  wind 

A  far-off  martial  din 
Like  the  tread  of  an  armored  multitude 

And  voice  of  trumpets  thin. 

The  tinker  answered:  "A  noble  wish! 

Of  all  my  men  the  best 
Have  ridden  into  the  dawn  of  life 

On  even  such  a  quest. 

"One  beguiled  a  lovely  queen. 

One  is  a  merchant  great. 
One  is  a  king  on  a  stolen  throne. 

All  are  of  kingly  state." 

Now  they  walked  on  a  meadow  soft 

Where  the  birds  sang  alway, 
And  wild  flowers  crowded  underfoot 

Till  the  air  was  sweet  as  May. 
[21] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

Then  a  bell  chimed  far  away, 
Through  the  bird-notes  falling, 

And  saddened  by  the  distance  seemed 
A  human  voice  was  calling. 

The  Devil  halted  in  middle  step. 

Mid-laugh  his  voice  doth  fail. 
He  cannot  speak.     He  cannot  move. 

He  standeth  stiff  and  pale. 

And  Offerus  turned  upon  the  fiend 

To  question  of  his  dread 
But  the  Tinker  flashed  into  empty  air 

And  a  moan  passed  overhead. 

The  meadow  and  the  flowers  dear 
Were  gone,  and  in  their  place 

A  lofty  wood  rolled  solemnly 
Across  the  heaven's  face. 

But  still  the  bell  beneath  the  trees 

Murmured  the  quiet  song 
As  a  brook  running  into  the  night 

Carries  the  stars  along. 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

Mighty  Offerus  bowed  his  head 

And  groaned  into  his  beard 
But  he  followed  through  the  woodland  strange 

The  voice  the  Tinker  feared. 

It  led  him  to  a  hermitage 

With  the  hermit  old  thereby 
Frozen  in  his  holy  thought, 

And  deadly  was  his  eye. 

To  him  spoke  lofty  Offerus: 

"I  come,  O  Master,  seeking 
To  enter  the  service  of  that  lord 

Of  whom  the  bell  is  speaking." 

By  dim  degrees  the  hermit  woke. 

Large  Offerus  he  viewed. 
"Giant,  the  master  of  the  bell 

Is  He  who  died  on  rood. 

"Turn  otherwhere.     In  serving  Christ 

Your  power  of  hand  will  fail. 
More  He  prizes  the  hermit  weak 

And  the  hermit's  vision  pale. 
[23] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

"The  child  that  laughs  at  play,  I  trow 

Is  larger  in  God's  eye. 
He  tosses  up  his  hands.     Behold ! 

You  cannot  reach  so  high. 

"Yet  if  you  will,  drop  on  your  knees 
In  prayer.     Give  up  your  sword. 

And  cast  the  burden  of  your  sins 
On  the  mercy  of  the  Lord." 

Like  rattling  parchment  was  his  voice 

But  the  bell  sang  between. 
His  voice  in  trembling  phrases  broke. 

The  bell,  it  chimed  between. 

"My  knees  are  strung  with  tendons  hard 

That  cannot  bend  in  fear," 
Said  Offerus,  "nor  will  I  call 

Unto  an  unseen  ear. 

"I  know  my  arms  are  strong  to  seize, 

My  mind  is  weak  to  hold, 
But  I  shall  work  with  honest  hands 

To  serve  your  master  bold." 
[24] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

II 

THE  TEMPTATION 
Offerus  found  a  raging  stream 

Whereover,  day  by  day, 
He  carried  in  the  name  of  Christ 

Travellers  on  their  way. 

He  will  not  pray,  he  will  not  fast, 

No  holy  songs  he  sings, 
But  in  the  peril  of  the  ford 

He  serves  the  King  of  kings. 

There  came  a  night  of  storm,  a  night 

Of  thunder  and  of  fear, 
And  in  his  hut  the  giant  heard 

A  distant  calling  clear. 

And  the  voice  led  him  like  a  hand 

Into  the  noisy  dark. 
First  the  lightning  in  the  sky 

Was  all  that  he  could  mark, 

And  then  a  child  with  yellow  hair 

And  eyes  of  quiet  grace; 
A  boy  with  blowing  yellow  hair 

Like  a  light  about  his  face. 
[25] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

It  was  a  strange  and  dreadful  thing 

That  lovely  child  to  meet, 
Happy  as  sunshine  in  the  storm, 

And  watch  his  dancing  feet. 

He  said:  "Upon  the  other  shore 

The  moon  is  shining  fair 
And  a  garden  underneath  the  moon 

With  playing  children  there. 

"Carry  me  where  the  children  wreathe 
The  yellow  flowers  and  red — 

Roses,  roses  Offerus, 
Woven  for  your  head." 

But  Offerus  said:     "Beneath  the  rain 
The  sodden  ground  is  black 

And  through  the  dark  the  river  makes 
A  white  and  angry  track. 

"No  voices  from  a  garden  come 

Of  children  at  their  play 
But  through  the  dark  the  angry  stream 

Goes  shouting  on  its  way." 
[26] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

Still  the  boy  cried:     "Look,  ah,  look! 

It  is  a  goodly  sight 
To  see  their  happy  games  and  hear 

Their  laughter  of  delight." 

He  turned  again  and  saw  a  thing 
Which  was  not  there  before — 

A  garden  where  the  children  played 
Upon  the  farther  shore. 

The  thunder  spoke.     The  lightning  leaped 
Through  the  shadows  in  the  sky 

But  where  the  noisy  children  played 
The  moonshine  seemed  to  lie. 

The  lightning  through  the  sea  of  clouds 

A  twisted  course  it  steered, 
And  Offerus  quaked  through  all  his  limbs, 

And  bowed  his  head,  and  feared. 

Yet  he  raised  the  little  child, 

He  entered  the  wild  water 
That  shouted  like  an  army  huge 

Charging  down  to  slaughter. 
[27] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

The  sand  melted  beneath  his  feet; 

The  river,  it  waxed  great 
Till  the  burden  on  his  shoulder  wide 

Became  a  crushing  weight. 

He  scarcely  stood.    About  his  legs 
The  tangling  stream  was  curled 

And  in  his  heart  he  seemed  to  bear 
The  sorrows  of  the  world. 

Still  the  white  water  harried  him. 

Still  the  thunder  groaned. 
And  Offerus  staggered  in  his  work 

And  with  the  labor  moaned. 

Thereat  the  child  above  the  storm, 

In  a  voice  thrilling  clear, 
Cried  out:  "Now  call  on  Jesus  Christ 

Who  keepeth  men  from  fear!" 

And  the  waves  smote  the  giant's  face 
And  the  waves  took  his  breath; 

Each  step  in  the  loud  river  seemed 
A  pace  nearer  death. 
[281 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

Yet  he  said:     "Call  not  on  Christ. 

Ask  not  His  aid  divine. 
Behold,  the  glory  is  for  God 

But  the  labor  shall  be  mine." 

Thereby  he  reached  the  shallow  water. 

He  climbed  to  the  water-side. 
And  the  garden  that  he  looked  upon, 

Oh,  it  was  fair  and  wide ! 

The  children  dancing  by  the  moon, 

Tfiey  made  his  heart  to  swell, 
For  their  beauty  upon  Offerus 

Like  gentle  music  fell. 

Lo,  in  merry  troops  they  came 

With  yellow  flowers  and  red 
And  roses,  roses  in  a  wreath 

Offered  for  his  head. 

But  the  laughing  lips,  they  made  no  sound, 
And  the  eyes  that  were  so  meek 

Looked  wistfully  on  Offerus, 
But  still  they  might  not  speak. 
[291 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

Then  every  face  at  once  went  out. 

The  moonshine  pure  was  gone. 
The  rain  beat  round  him.     Through  the  night 

Went  the  long  lightnings  wan. 

A  voice  spoke  from  the  dark  above 

And  looking  up  again, 
Great  Offerus  thought  to  see  a  light, 

But  only  felt  the  rain. 

"Great  Offerus,  in  your  distress 

If  you  had  called  on  me 
My  body  once  again,  for  you, 

Would  have  hung  upon  the  tree. 

"From  every  man  who  lifts  his  voice 

In  weak  humility, 
I  take  the  burden  of  his  woe; 

I  take  his  agony. 

"Those  who  kneel  in  suffering, 

In  bitterness  and  in  loss, 
Each  prayer  is  but  another  nail 

That  rives  me  on  the  cross. 
[30] 


LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER 

"Their  sorrows  flee;  their  hearts  grow  light; 

Each  humble  mind  is  graced; 
But  the  sweetness  entering  their  souls, 

It  is  my  blood  they  taste. 

"But  he  who  makes  his  shoulders  wide 

To  bear  his  single  part, 
He  takes  the  burden  of  the  world 

And  lifts  it  from  my  heart. 

"He  binds  my  wounds  of  hands  and  feet. 

He  pities  my  distress. 
He  ppurs  for  me  the  blessed  wine 

Of  deep  forge tfulness. 

"Christ  perishes  for  those  who  pray 

And  they  are  lulled  to  sleep, 
But  Offerus  for  himself  will  die 

And  for  him  Christ  will  weep." 

Like  tears  the  rain  was  on  his  face. 

He  heard  the  voice  depart, 
But  the  fragrance  of  the  roses  fell 

Like  speech  upon  his  heart. 
[311 


Six  Poems  for  Children 


33 


SUNDAY 

THE  tall  church  spire  points  to  the  sky 
And  the  church  steps  are  wide  and  high 
To  start  us  climbing  up  to  God — 
But  the  church  is  empty,  and  that  is  odd. 
Only  on  Sundays  the  people  come 
And  sit  so  frightened  and  so  dumb. 
Yet  it's  a  wonderful  place  to  see. 
The  arches  are  big  as  they  can  be, 
The  pillars  are  wide  and  strong  and  tall 
And  a  shadowy  dome  is  over  all. 
The  preacher  talks  of  Death  and  Kings 
And  Golden  Heaven,  and  lots  of  Things 
While  little  whispers  go  to  and  fro 
Made  by  the  angels'  wings,  you  know. 
Up  in  the  dome  in  a  shadow-dress 
God  listens  to  the  talk,  I  guess, 
Then  we  all  get  up  and  go  away 
And  the  church  is  hushed  till  another  day. 
[35] 


SUNDAY 

For  one  day  in  church  out  of  the  seven 
Is  all  we  need  to  think  of  heaven 
And  sing  for  God  and  sit  so  meek — 
He  only  lives  there  once  a  week. 


36 


THE  LITTLE  MEN 

A    WHISPER  on  the  carpet,  a  creaking  on  the 
•*••  stair — 

Hold  your  breath,  close  your  eyes;  the  Little 

Men  are  there! 
The  middle  night  has  voices  and  feet  that  dance 

with  art 
And  the  drum  that  keeps  them  dancing  is  the 

beating  of  your  heart. 
Murmuring  within  the  wall  and  in  the  shadow 

places 

They  are  very  little  men  with  round,  white  faces, 
Round,  white  faces  and  sharpest  teeth  to  gnaw 
And  fingers  that  are  smaller  than  spider's  poison 

claw. 
They're  the  eyes  of  midnight  that  are  watching 

you  awake, 

Little  eyes  that  glitter,  eyes  most  like  a  snake. 
Once  upon  a  window  in  the  dark  of  the  moon 
[37] 


THE  LITTLE  MEN 

I  saw  a  tiny  goblin  who  was  dancing  to  a  tune; 
Tingling,  tickling  music  and  it  made  the  goblin 

flit- 
Fd  set  the  whole  world  dancing  if  I  should  whistle 

it. 
Whistle  it  I  dare  not  for  the  goblins  all  would 

come, 
Skipping  light  and  grinning,  and  marching  to 

the  drum. 
The  king  of  all  the  goblins  then  would  sit  above 

my  bed 
On  a  throne  of  solid  moonshine  with  a  crown 

upon  his  head 
In  the  middle  of  a  nightmare  that  is  full  of  awful 

eyes — 
Goblins  running,  goblins  flying,  all  with  fearful 

cries. 
But  the  little  men  of  midnight  can  never  work 

you  ill 
If  you  cross  your  fingers  tightly  and  lie  there 

very  still 

Staring  at  the  ceiling — counting  up  to  ten — 
They    cannot    hear    your    heart-beat,    so    they 

vanish  again. 

[38] 


BUCCANEER 

SITTING  here  behind  my  book, 
Quiet  in  my  chair, 
If  they  knew  where  I  had  gone, 
How  they  all  would  stare! 

While  mother  shakes  her  paper  out 

And  father  taps  his  chin 
I  am  sailing  south  and  south 

To  where  the  Trades  begin. 

The  curtain-poles  are  yard-arms  black, 

The  curtain  is  a  sail, 
And  when  I  rock  my  chair  the  ship 

Is  heeling  to  a  gale. 

The  bow-wave  gallops  white  before, 

The  wake  is  white  behind, 
Ruler  of  the  sea  am  I 

And  comrade  of  the  wind. 
[391 


BUCCANEER 

Down  the  moon-path  silver  bright 
The  scar-faced  helmsman  steers  us 

Drinking  to  battle  and  singing  of  blades 
For  the  Lord  of  the  Incas  fears  us. 

Out  of  the  dizzy  swaying  tops 

We  hear  the  look-out  cry 
And  far  away  we  see  a  sail 

Wink  in  the  blue  of  the  sky. 

Rising  lofty  from  the  sea, 

Slowly  we  overhaul  her, 
A  galleon  of  Lima  town, 

Stately,  tall,  and  taller. 

In  vain  she  shakes  more  canvas  out, 

In  vain  she  reels  away 
And  lunging  through  the  heavy  waves 

Throws  up  white  flags  of  spray. 

Our  bow-guns  boom;  her  mainmast  falls; 

And  now  her  cannon  roar. 
She  fears  us  though  for  three  of  us 

Her  captain  has  a  score. 
[40] 


BUCCANEER 

She  rises  like  a  fortress  wall 

And  we  so  small  beneath, 
But  every  man  goes  up  her  side 

With  a  cutlass  in  his  teeth. 

They're  the  Inquisition's  men, 

The  Devil's  hunting  pack, 
But  we're  the  sturdy  dogs  of  Devon — 

We  drive  the  proud  Dons  back. 

The  sun  is  on  our  swinging  blades; 

The  Dons  are  blind  with  fear. 
Their  captain's  down,  their  flag  is  struck- 

Ho,  an  English  cheer! 

And  oh  the  loot  the  Spaniards  robbed 
From  a  thousand,  thousand  places — 

The  bullion  and  the  silver  work, 
The  coin  and  yellow  laces ! 

There's  rum  now  for  the  focs'l,  lads, 
There's  Tokay  for  the  cabin, 

Shouting,  shouting  in  the  focs'l, 
Singing  in  the  cabin. 

******* 
[41] 


BUCCANEER 

Mother  shakes  her  paper  out 

And  father  taps  his  chin 
But  down  the  chimney  shrills  the  wind 

And  brings  the  singing  in. 


[42] 


THE  STARS 

SOME  people  say  the  stars  may  be 
Little  children  with  golden  hair 
Who  at  evening,  silently, 

Walk  from  heaven  a  shadowy  stair. 

Surely  it  is  strange  and  chill 

To  come  down  through  the  silences 

And  stand  so  long  and  lean  so  still 
Over  dark  mountains  and  lost  seas. 

Upon  the  earth  they  see  the  lights 
So  far  beneath  the  blue,  blue  dome 

And  listen  through  the  windy  nights 
To  hear  the  voice  that  calls  them  home. 

And  when  the  night  is  nearly  done, 

All  the  children  turn  away, 
Sadly  turning,  one  by  one, 

To  climb  into  the  lonely  day. 
[43] 


FAIRYLAND 

IT  happened  in  the  fairy  month  of  June, 

For  fairies  spend  their  winters  in  the  moon 
But  in  red  strawberry  and  cherry  time 
They  put  their  coats  of  crimson  on  and  climb 
Below  the  stars  to  forests  where  they  make 
The  whistling  in  the  wind,  or  on  the  lake 
Run  down  the  star-paths,  though  we  only  see 
The  twinkle  where  their  dancing  feet  must  be. 

That  day  the  leaves  were  quiet,  for  the  breeze 
Was  tired,  at  last,  of  talking  to  the  trees 
And  in  a  far  off  hollow,  cold  and  deep, 
Slumbered — I  heard  him  breathing  in  his  sleep. 
So  all  the  forest  hushed,  when  first  I  heard 
The  squirrels  chatter,  then  all  still.    A  bird 
Darted  across  the  open.    Next  I  felt 
That  something  in  the  hazel  thicket  knelt 
And  stared  at  me  with  tiny,  glittering  eyes. 
[44] 


FAIRYLAND 

I  sat  up  breathless,  tingling  with  surprise 

To  have  such  company.    I  could  not  see 

A  thing,  but  knew  somewhere  he  grinned  at  me — 

A  little  man,  I  think,  with  a  green  hat 

And  a  red  coat,  and  ears  just  like  a  cat, 

Pointed  and  furry.    If  I  caught  him  tight 

He'd  struggle,  said  the  book,  and  bite  and  fight 

But  finally  give  up  and  let  me  choose 

Among  seven  wishes  if  I  let  him  loose. 

So  into  the  hazel  shrubs  I  ran  as  fast 

As  I  could  run,  but  he  had  always  passed 

The  place  I  reached,  a  step  or  two  before 

And    gone    on,    whispering,    laughing.     Yes,    a 

score 

Of  times  I  almost  heard  his  step  and  twice 
I  saw  the  glitter  of  his  bright  green  eyes ! 
So  at  the  last,  all  eager  from  the  race, 
Breathless  and  panting,  I  came  on  the  place 
Where  it  must  live. 

I  knew  it  by  the  brook, 
And  the  ferns  and  flowers  had  a  fairy  look. 
Among  green  shadows  and  the  yellow  sun 
The  talking  of  the  stream  was  never  done, 
Whispering  as  though  it  had  a  tale  to  tell 
[45] 


FAIRYLAND 

To  someone  and  so  told  the  pimpernel, 

The  water-lily  and  wild  violet 

The  same  tale  over,  lest  it  should  forget. 

I  waited  for  the  fairy,  but  I  guess 

That  he  was  somewhere  in  the  wilderness 

Teaching  a  squirrel  to  say  its  prayers.     (You 

know 

How  they  sit  up  and  hold  their  hands  just  so?) 
He  slipped  away,  grinning,  and  let  me  stand 
Shut  out  before  the  door  of  fairyland. 
It  must  have  been  the  door,  for  I  could  see 
A  water  dog  which  lay  there,  watching  me — 
What  seemed  a  water  dog,  but  I've  no  doubt 
That  was  the  dragon  set  to  keep  me  out. 


[46] 


THE  SECRET 

rEY  drew  the  blinds  down,  and  the  house 
was  old 

With  shadows,  and  so  cold — 
Filled  up  with  shuddery  silence  like  held  breath; 
And  when  I  asked,  they  told 
Me  only  that  the  quietness  was  death. 

They  walked  tiptoe  about  the  house  that  day 

And  turned  their  heads  away 

When  I  was  near.    I  watched  them  in  surprise 

And  quite  forgot  to  play, 

Seeing  them  pass  with  wonder  in  their  eyes. 

My  mother  came  into  my  room  that  night 
Holding  a  shaded  light 
Above  my  face  till  she  was  sure  I  slept; 
And  I  lay  still  with  fright, 

Feeling  her  tremble  and  knowing  that  she  wept. 
[471 


THE  SECRET 

And  afterward,  with  no  one  there  to  see, 

I  got  up  quietly 

And  stole  along  the  hall  in  my  bare  feet 

Until  it  seemed  to  me 

That  all  the  air  grew  sorrowful  and  sweet. 

So,  hardly  breathing,  I  went  down  the  stair 

In  the  cold,  quiet  air, 

Into  the  parlor,  where  the  perfumes  led. 

I  lit  my  candle  there 

And  held  it  a  long  time  above  my  head. 

There  was  an  oblong  box  and  at  its  base 

Grew  lilies,  in  a  vase 

As  white  as  they.    I  thought  them  very  tall 

In  such  a  listening  place, 

And  they  threw  fearful  shadows  on  the  wall. 

I  tiptoed  to  the  box,  then,  silently, 
To  find  what  death  could  be. 
But  then  I  smiled,  for  it  was  father  who 
Was  sleeping  quietly. 

He  dreamed,  I  think,  for  he  was  smiling,  too, 
[481 


THE  SECRET 

And  all  at  once  I  knew  death  is  a  thing 

That  stoops  down,  whispering 

A  dear,  forgotten  secret  in  your  ear 

Such  as  the  winds  can  sing, 

And  then  you  sleep,  and  dream,  and  have  no  fear. 

Perhaps  the  breezes  tell  the  dream  to  flowers 

On  nights  of  lonely  hours; 

Perhaps  we,  too,  could  learn  if  we  could  seek 

The  wind  in  his  watch-towers; 

Perhaps  the  lilies  knew,  but  could  not  speak. 


[49] 


Bali 


in 


From  Malory's  Narrative  of  the 
Dolorous  Stroke. 


51 


BALIN'S  SONG  TO  HIS  SWORD 

BEHOLD  my  lady  glorious  bright! 
Her  body  is  of  frozen  light, 
Her  face  dazzles,  her  voice  so  rare 
Is  a  thrilling  whisper  in  the  air. 

On  the  battlefield  she  knighted  me, 
She  clad  me  in  samite  and  cramoisie, 
She  filled  my  purse,  her  abundant  hand 
Gave  me  castles  and  lordly  land. 

No  hero  has  twice  heard  by  choice 
The  murmur  of  her  enchanting  voice. 
No  warrior  has  ever  dared 
To  view  her  loveliness  twice  bared. 

The  fruits  of  our  wedlock  are  children  meet 
With  silent  voices  and  silent  feet, 
But  each  has  his  mother's  face  of  light 
And  their  names  are  Honor  and  Glory  bright. 
[53] 


BALIN 
I 

SOME  careless  pleasure-lover  made  the  road. 
It  stayed  upon  the  hill  in  lazy  curves 
And  where  the  river  went  it  wandered  also, 
Drawn  in  to  see  the  quiet  of  a  pool 
Or  singing  waterfall,  now  strongly  hewed 
Through  the  forest-heart,  now  running  joyously 
Over  the  windy  moor,  and  like  the  wind 
Sir  Balin  galloped  on  his  charger  grey. 
Ever  a  lordly  steed  ennobles  man 
And  on  that  horse  the  saddle  was  a  throne. 
Like  a  great  eagle  on  a  tower  of  wind 
His  glance  was  fierce,  his  gallop  like  the  beat 
Of  wings;  but  when  he  paused  and  raised  his 

head, 

Then,  then  the  desert  which  had  mothered  him 
Seemed  spread  before  his  eye.     Upon  a  height 
They  halted.     From  afar  the  forest  rolled 
[541 


BALIN 

Across  the  hills  and  at  their  feet  it  poured 
Through  half  the  valley  like  a  wave  of  night, 
And  washed  a  foam  of  daisies  down  the  meadows. 
Out  of  the  solemn  forest  slipped  a  pair 
Of  greyhounds  and  behind,  an  armored  knight, 
His  lady  at  his  side  with  garments  gay 
Fluttering  like  a  gaudy  butterfly 
Across  the  green.     Furiously  they  spurred; 
Above  their  heads  the  clotted  turf  was  tossing; 
They  leaned  into  the  wind,  yet  nothing  followed, 
Naught  in  the  valley  lived  except  dumb  cattle 
Lifting  their  heads  to  watch  the  fugitives. 
Sweeter  than  tidings  of  the  hawthorn  bloom 
That  blew  upon  the  wind,  the  warrior  breathed 
Perfume  of  mystery  and  adventure  strange. 
Now  nearer  drawn  he  saw  the  coat  of  arms — 
Three  yellow  lions  on  a  field  of  black; 
He  saw  the  lady's  hanging  sleeves  of  blue 
That  cupped  the  wind,  her  veil  a  blowing  mist, 
The  hooded  hawk  that  wavered  on  her  arm, 
And  his  heart  leaped  before  he  saw  her  face : 
Her  beauty  went  before  her  like  the  breath 
Of  unseen  gardens  walking  through  the  night. 
Her  comrade  was  all  terrible  in  steel, 
[55] 


BALIN 

His  visor  shut,  his  quivering  lance  erect, 
Spurring  a  stallion  of  a  noble  race 
That  rushed  against  the  curb  with  open  mouth. 
His  honest  heart  was  greater  than  his  might 
For  weight  of  armor  and  the  biting  spur 
Had  sapped  his  power  and  in  his  stride  he  reeled. 
He  skimmed  the  valley,  but  he  struck  the  hill 
With  laboring  gallop. 

"He  who  chargeth  mountains," 
Quoth  crafty  Balin,  "leaveth  on  the  slope 
The  stallion's  speed." 

And  halfway  to  the  top 

The  charger  staggered,  shook  his  valiant  head, 
And  fell,  pinning  his  rider  with  his  weight. 
The  maiden's  cry  went  shrilling  up  the  wind; 
The  dust-cloud  rolled  away. 

"Sodroppethafool," 

Said  Balin,  "drawing  on  his  head  his  folly." 
But  hurrying  to  the  place,  he  drew  the  knight 
To  safety,  while  the  girl  made  sad  lament. 
Sir  Balin  marked  them  not.    His  soldier  eye 
Grew  dark  with  looking  on  the  dying  horse, 
A  battle-steed  and  fit  to  die  in  battle. 
Meantime  the  fallen  knight,  unhelmeted, 
[56] 


BALIN 

Rose  groaning,  and  Sir  Balin  smiled  to  see 
Above  the  shoulders,  wide  with  jointed  steel, 
The  smooth  face  of  a  boy  who  stammered  ever : 
"Invisible  Garlon  struck  the  noble  horse. 
Garlon,  Garlon  followeth — God  protect  us!" 
He  cried,  and  trembled  like  the  silver  aspen 
That  shudders  even  when  the  wind  is  still. 
His  limbs  were  bruised  and  yet  his  greatest  hurt 
Was  inward  of  the  spirit  till  it  seemed 
That  Garlon  with  a  murdering  lance  unseen 
Had  truly  pierced  him.    Pity  took  the  knight. 
Far  off  he  saw  himself,  the  youthful  Balin, 
Riding  into  a  friendless  world;  his  wounds 
In  memory  ached.    So  turned  he  to  the  girl. 
Her  years  were  barely  past  the  dreamy  verge 
Of  girlhood;  she  was  lovely  as  the  dawn, 
Now  under  mist  of  fear. 

"Tell  me  the  tale," 

And  she  obeyed,  the  while  his  heart  did  shrink 
To  see  her  terror.    She  was  Lady  Nerys, 
And  this  was  Perin,  lord  of  Montbeliard, 
Her  brother.     Battle  claimed  their  father's  life 
And  when  the  grim  old  warrior  was  gone 
Garlon  the  dreadful,  Garlon  the  dark  of  fame 
[571 


BALIN 

Who  rode  by  wizardry  invisible, 
Lusted  after  the  meadows  and  the  woodlands 
Of  Montbeliard  and  came  to  Nerys,  wooing. 
But  when  she  scorned  him,  like  a  savage  ghost 
He  roamed  the  manor.    One  by  one  they  found 
The  old  retainers  lying  in  the  forest 
Run  through  behind  until  a  panic  drove 
Their  liegemen  from  them.    So,  in  bitter  fear 
Perin  and  Nerys  rode  from  Montbeliard, 
Hounded  along  the  way  by  dread  of  Garlon. 

She  ended  in  a  breaking  voice,  the  while 
Her  gleaming  fingers  cherished  the  tercel  fierce 
Against  her  breast,  and  through  the  mournful 

eyes 

He  looked  into  her  soul,  most  like  a  child — 
So  clear  a  smile  would  cloud  it  and  so  dim 
The  lore  of  ages  never  could  attain 
Its  meaning.    And  the  life  of  Balin  stopped 
As  when  a  mighty  tide,  between  the  ebb 
And  flow  a  moment  standing,  shows  the  stars. 
Out  of  that  holy  quiet  Balin  drew 
Himself  by  force. 

"In  all  the  jongleur  tales 
Of  magic  is  no  fellow  to  thy  Garlon — 
[58] 


BALIN 

He  should  be  done  in  rhymes  upon  the  harp; 
But  I,  fair  lady,  fear  no  ghostly  spear. 
Mount  thou  again.    Let  Perin  take  my  horse. 
Turn  back  with  Balin  to  thy  Montbeliard." 
Thereat  the  plated  steel  on  Perin  shook. 
"My  heart  is  sick  of  Garlon.     Give  me  sight 
Of  daylight  danger  and  I  shall  not  shrink 
From  pain  and  blood  and  the  cold-cutting  steel, 
But  thought  of  Garlon  like  a  secret  shame 
Devoureth   courage."     But    Sir    Balin   cheered 

him: 

"No  man  hath  seen  this  Garlon  work  a  death 
By  mystery.     The  spear  invisible 
Is  but  his  cunning  and  the  hood  of  darkness 
Is  secret  night  in  which  he  rideth  soft. 
Courage,  my  friends.    He  slayeth  lonely  men, 
This  walker  of  the  night,  but  now  you  go 
With  Balin.     Say  you?"    Sharply  he  smote  the 

hilt 
And  his  long  blade  murmured  into  the  sheath. 

They  looked  on  him  in  wonder,  till  she  said : 
"Now  quiet  falleth  over  me,  dear  brother. 
The  God  of  champions  sendeth  Balin  to  us." 
"But  fear  like  water  runneth  in  my  blood," 
[591 


BALIN 

Said  Perin.    "My  body  faileth  and  my  spirit 
Is  broken,  Nerys,  broken !    But  let  us  go 
Whither  thou  wilt  or  where  this  knight  may 

lead, 
And  He  who  made  us  keep  us  in  this  peril!" 

So  Nerys  raised  his  spirit  with  gentle  words 
And  Balin  helped  him  strongly  to  the  saddle 
On  the  grey  horse.    Behold!    The  noble  steed 
Which  strode  so  fierce  with  Balin,  tiger-strong, 
Now  journeyed  like  a  lady's  palfrey  mild, 
Bearing  the  wounded  knight,  or  softly  neighed 
To  Balin  walking  by  the  horse  of  Nerys, 
And  leading  towards  a  chapel  in  the  wood 
Far  off,  to  rest  her  brother  of  his  hurts. 

Sir  Perin  went  behind.    His  troubled  glance 
Rived  to  the  cloud,  then  downward  on  the  earth 
He  watched  the  silent  passing  of  its  shadow 
Or  the  wind-riffles  running  on  the  grass. 
Those  twinkling  footsteps  of  the  breezes  passed 
With  dance  and  glimmer  like  the  galloping 
Of  Garlon's  soundless  horse,  and  every  whisper 
And  every  thrust  of  chilly  evening  wind 
Went  through  him  like  the  point  of  Garlon's 

spear. 

[60] 


BALIN 

Meantime,  through  twilight  forest  dolorous 
The  Lady  Nerys  drifted  bright,  her  sleeves 
Of  crimson  weighed  with  golden  apples  rich, 
Her  gown  a  deeper  blue  than  evening  hills. 
Joyous  she  went,  forgetful  of  her  brother, 
And  lost  in  hardy  Balm  at  her  side. 
He  stepped  as  light  in  armor  as  the  runner 
Behind   whose  foot   the   crushed   grass   springs 

again; 

Yet  more  on  the  unvisored  features  dwelling, 
She  saw  them  battle-worn  but  battle-eager, 
With    cruel    mouth    and    eye    like    a    hawk's 

unhooded. 

And  evermore  she  stared  with  wondering  soul, 
For  the  mystery  of  strange  lands  was  in  his  face. 
Each  step  she  rode  was  deeper  in  his  heart, 
She  knew,  though  not  how  perilous  that  journey 
But  now  her  snare  for  little  singing  birds 
Had  trapped  a  falcon  out  of  the  wild  wind. 

A  yellow  moon  went  up  and  turned  to  white, 
Filling  the  wood  with  magic,  coiling  roots 
Like  serpents  by  the  path  and  many  a  tree 
By  shadow  molded  into  winged  form 
Of  dragon,  or  a  naked,  ghostly  trunk 
[611 


BALIN 

With  arms  outstretched.    Far  off,  a  waterfall 
Rolled  towards  them  on  the  wind  with  monster 

voice, 

Then  stopped  to  listen  while  the  travellers  passed 
A  quiet  river  and  a  field  inlaid 
With  shadow  patterning  on  silver  cold, 
That  drifted  over  Lady  Nerys  also. 
So  all  the  forest  waited.     Deep  in  mold 
The  hoofs  were  soundless,  and  they  went  like 

ghosts 
In  a  world  of  death. 

Then  wildly  Perin  screamed. 
When  a  hawk  strikes,  so  in  a  windless  sky 
The  bird  shrieks  and  dies  midway  in  the  sound, 
And   Perin's   voice   grasped   every   nerve   with 

horror. 

Sir  Balin,  whirling,  saw  him  headlong  plunge 
While  a  shadow  like  a  charging  horseman  struck 
The  ranks  of  trees  and  vanished.     "Murderer!" 
Cried  Balin,  "Garlon,  Garlon,  one  man  calleth — 
One  man  awaits  thee ! "     But  he  heard  no  answer 
Save  his  own  panting  as  he  ran.    It  seemed 
That  Garlon  was  dissolved  in  phantom  moon 
shine. 

[62] 


BALIN 

At  length  he  halted,  turned,  and  slowly  followed 
The  voice  of  Nerys  wailing.     Her  he  found 
Beside  her  brother.     Once  with  belted  sword 
And  chain  of  gold  he  seemed  a  warlike  knight; 
Unhelmeted  now  and  smiling  to  the  moon, 
His  maiden-slender  hand  upturned,  he  looked 
A  child,  and  murdered.     Very  like  the  face 
Of  Nerys  was  his  face ;  in  her  he  lived 
And  in  his  death  something  of  Nerys  died 
From  earth. 

And  pitying  her  Sir  Balin  spoke: 
"Lady,  far  liefer  would  I  see  thy  tears 
And  hear  thy  voice  breaking  in  fierce  reproaches 
Than  pale,  pale  wonder  and  thine  empty  eyes. 
This  work  of  dole  is  mine,  wherefore  I  vow: 
Balin  shall  be  thy  liegeman,  thou  his  lady 
Until  by  me  the  wolfish  Garlon  dieth. " 

She  answered  not.    He  raised  the  body  light 
And  slowly,  slowly  through  the  wood  they  went. 
Anon,  no  louder  than  the  fall  of  water, 
Drop  by  drop  in  the  silence  of  the  well, 
They  heard  the  matins  rung,  and  in  the  dawn 
They  found  the  chapel  and  the  man  of  God. 
From  Perm's  hair  they  washed  the  forest  mold 


BALIN 

And  lapped  his  body  in  the  linen  smooth 
And  laid  him  deep  beneath  the  chapel  floor. 

Bayberry  tapers  burned  about  the  grave 
Where  Nerys  watched  the  day  and  weary  night 
Until  her  eyes  were  dull,  her  lips  were  pale. 
Before  her  stood  Sir  Balin.     Hour  by  hour 
His  head  was  bowed  to  watch  the  candle  flames, 
By  daylight  wan  as  spirits,  but  at  night 
Gleaming  upon  the  folded  hands  of  Nerys 
Or  in  her  level  eyes  the  glimmer  went 
As  far  as  music  on  still  water  falling. 

Each  moment,  now,  she  crept  into  his  heart 
Farther  than  she  had  entered  all  the  hours 
He  journeyed  by  her  through  the  pleasant  wood. 
For  beauty  walks  alone  in  crowds,  with  glance 
Fixed  far  away  and  inward  joyousness. 
Yea,  beauty  is  a  radiance  that  shines 
Within  the  body  like  a  holy  fire 
Cupped  in  translucent  agate.     Cold  with  awe 
She  held  Sir  Balin  in  her  happy  hour 
But  now  he  found  with  wonder  that  her  grief 
Transformed  her  to  a  woman  to  be  loved 
And  cherished  in  pain  that  would  not  waste  in 

tears. 

[641 


BALIN 

Then,  as  the  rain,  long  misty  grey  in  heaven, 
Brings  in  the  evening  with  a  whispering  fall 
That  promises  a  brighter  sky  the  morrow, 
The  Lady  Nerys  wept,  and  after  slumbered. 

II 

Sir  Balin  walked  the  garden  in  the  morning. 
Would  she  come  forth  all  pale,  with  dreamy  eyes 
Not  yet  returned  from  wandering  in  the  world 
Of  death  with  Perin?     Lo,  the  lady  came 
And  never  a  shadow  dwelt  upon  her  face! 
They  broke  their  fast  together.    The  green  wood 
Rolled  by  the  open  door;  the  man  of  God 
Was  singing  in  his  garden;  and  the  knight 
Marvelled  at  Nerys  singing  the  same  song, 
Then  Balin  thought:     "Already  she  forgets! 
God  wot,  my  horse  will  mourn  a  longer  time!" 
But  when  the  noble  chanting  of  the  priest 
Was  blown  away  and  forest  voices  moved 
About  them,  softly,  Balin  saw  by  chance 
A  shadow  of  listening  fall  upon  her  face, 
Whereat    the    knight    pondered,    and    thus    he 

thought : 

"He  is  not  dead,  and  she  hath  not  forgotten 
[65] 


BALIN 

But  marketh  him  in  flowers  and  in  the  morning." 
He  said :     "  Whatever  house  will  give  thee  shelter 
For  honor  of  thy  name,  tell  me  the  road. 
Our    journey    must   be   there."      "But   Garlon 

liveth!" 

"Despite  his  cloak  of  darkness  I  shall  reach  him; 
Now  seek  we  rest  for  Nerys."     But  she  roused, 
Flushing  and  crying:     "Balin,  Balin,  peace 
Shall  never  come  to  Nerys.     Every  tale 
Of  Garlon  like  a  spear  will  run  me  through. 
Yea,  and  his  black  face  is  unknown  to  thee 
But  I  shall  point  him  out."     "Child,  the  first 

storm 
Would  melt  thee."     "Ah,  Sir  Balin,  where  thou 

goest 

By  might,  be  sure  Nerys  will  learn  to  follow 
As  lightly  as  a  bubble  in  thy  wake." 
He  could  not  choose  but  smile,  and  having  smiled 
He  had  no  force  against  her.     So  they  started. 
They  went  by  hill  and  dale  a  wondrous  way 
In  solemn  wilderness  or  twilight  forest 
Where  songs  of  birds  out  of  the  treetops  fell 
And  dropping  among  shadows  told  of  day 
And  the  blue  sky  above.    On  many  a  night 
[66] 


BALIN 

Their   beds   were   chilly   turf;   sometimes   they 

broke 

The  hermit's  bread  in  silence;  or  they  sat 
Among  the  ashes  of  the  cottager's  hut 
Where  little  naked  children,  brown  and  wild, 
Peered  from  the  shadows  and  grinned  in  scared 

delight 

To  see  the  lovely  lady.     Rumor  led  them, 
For  wild  as  marsh  light  Garlon  roved  and  marked 
His  path  with  evil. 

On  a  day  they  crossed 
An  ashen  forest  and  a  wood  of  oak 
Until  they  came  above  a  valley  green 
With  meadow  land.     The  shallow  evening  lay 
Across  the  pastures  and  the  long  white  road, 
But  high  above  the  mist  they  saw  tall  towers, 
A  goodly  company  going  up  the  sky 
With  drift  of  birds  across  them.     In  the  shade 
A  village  huddled,  but  the  donjon  tall 
Still  brightened  with  the  sunset.     "  Listeneise ! " 
Cried  Nerys.     "Ah,  my  father  told  me  tales! 
There  is  a  ceiling  of  marble  crusted  with  gold, 
Gardens  filled  with  flowers  that  never  bloom 
In  other  places.     Black  men  from  the  east 
[67] 


BALIN 

Are  servants,  and  I  know — a  miracle! — 

A  wizard  lieth  in  a  room  of  gold, 

And  on  a  table  at  his  side,  the  spear 

That  pierced  the  Savior  hanging  on  the  cross. 

He  made  all  this  and  with  a  single  word 

Can  blast  the  stones  to  dust  and  wither  the  men 

To  dead  leaves  in  a  rattling  wind."     Her  lips 

Could  hardly  whisper  such  a  mortal  speech 

But  her  eyes  rounded  with  delight.     Then  Balin : 

"We  ride  in  search  of  Garlon,  not  of  rooms 

Of  gold  or  strong  enchanters.    Mark  how  black 

It  stands  against  the  sky ! "    "Thou  wilt  not  pass 

Old  Listeneise  unseen?"    "I  like  it  not. 

My    wounds    are    pricking,    lady."     But    she 

smiled : 

"Balin,  strong  Balin,  gloomy  evening  cometh 
And  the  shadow  of  the  palace  standeth  far 
Along  the  valley.    Therefore  thou  art  sad. 
Have  I  not  seen  my  father,  that  brave  man, 
Quake  when  a  dog  howled  or  the  firelight  cast 
An  image  at  his  feet?"    Sternly  he  said: 
"Enough!     We  harbor  not  in  Listeneise." 
Meantime  over  the  hill  beside  the  castle 
A  rout  of  hunters  poured,  the  deer  hounds  first, 
[681 


BALIN 

Low  running  silhouettes,  and  after  these 

On  dancing  horses,  lady,  lord  and  squire 

Over  the  crest  against  the  sunset  red, 

Then  streaming  into  the  evening  mist  all  colors 

Were  blurred,  crimson,  purple,  yellow  and  green 

Like  a  garden  under  shadow.     Far  and  faint 

Their  voices  tingled  and  an  echo  small 

Beat  from  the  hollow  drawbridge  as  they  crossed. 

Then  Balin  saw  the  hands  of  Nerys  folded 

Together  at  her  breast,  and  in  her  eyes 

The  tears.     "Alas,"  she  said,  "the  happy  life!" 

And  Balin  sighed:    "Ride  on!    Thou  shalt  not 

weep." 
Who  then  so  gay  as  Nerys? 

As  they  rode 

The  darkness  came  and  in  the  dark  they  met 
With  many  a  troop  hurrying  on  Listeneise. 
Anon,  a  horn  blew  wildly  from  a  tower 
Whereat  the  castle  flared  with  sudden  torches 
And  beacons  rose,  and  the  hills  rolled  out  of  night 
All  red,  and  like  a  blowing  fire  a  cloud 
Streamed  in  the  sky.     But  Nerys  urged  her  horse, 
Laughing,  and  crying  ever:    "On,  make  on! 
The  board  is  set,  the  king  is  in  his  place, 
[69] 


BALIN 

The  lords  and  all  the  ladies  take  their  chairs 
With  shimmer  of  samite  and  with  gleam  of  gold." 

Ill 

It  was  a  mighty  hall.     The  vault  arose 

On  clustered  piers;  a  clear  story  shone  above 

With    myriad   tapers   on   fretwork   windows 

gleaming, 

The  fretwork  windows  of  mosaic  glass, 
Emerald,  crimson,  purple,  golden,  blue 
In  harmony,  like  sunset  through  a  mist. 
Sir  Balin  looked  yet  higher  to  the  vault, 
Obscure  as  midnight,  then,  a  dizzy  fall, 
Down  to  the  banquet  table  set  about 
With  pigmy  men.     Two  trains  of  servitors 
Were  ever  moving,  antlike,  one  that  bore 
The  loaded  dishes  by  dissolving  clouds 
Of  fragrance  followed,  and  the  other  stream 
Hurried  away  the  fragments  of  the  feast — 
The  boar's  huge  skeleton  with  hollow  ribs, 
The  broken  goblets.     Many  an  hour  that  feast 
Had  dured  and  still  would  sound,  for  Pellam  gave 

it. 

With  awe  the  lady  pointed  where  he  sat 
[70] 


BALIN 

At  the  long  table's  head.     Behind  him  rose 
An  apse  upon  whose  wall  a  rich  mosaic 
Pictured  the  Pharaonic  host  destroyed 
In  tumult  of  the  water,  chariots, 
Ensigns,  steeds  of  battle  and  warriors 
Rolled  in  confusion,  and  against  this  glory 
The  sprawling  body  of  the  king  was  raised 
On  cushions  in  a  throne  of  white.    His  robe 
Of  silk  was  also  white,  his  face  was  pale 
And  large  with  flesh,  while  in  his  misty  eyes 
A  light  gleamed  as  each  mighty  dish  arrived, 
Or  at  a  drunkard's  laughter,  a  fall  of  glass, 
Or  when  the  nasal  loure  discordant  whined 
Above  the  music.    Neither  would  he  speak 
Nor  eat,  but  for  his  drink  a  noble  page 
Held  on  a  salver  near  the  throne  a  cup 
Of  sweetened  water.    If  it  chanced  he  pointed, 
Two  negro  mutes  arose  to  pour  the  wine 
Of  Pellam  for  the  chosen  guest — a  dame 
Who  all  too  daintily  had  sipped  her  cup 
And  now  must  quaff  the  goblet  of  the  king 
Perforce,  or  youthful  peer  already  dazed 
Was  plunged  in  torpor  by  the  royal  draught. 
All  this  Sir  Balin  saw,  but  chiefly  marked 
[711 


BALIN 

In  seats  of  honor  two  of  lofty  form 

And  manner  stark,  each  like  to  each  in  beard 

And  eyes.     They  seemed  to  eat,  they  seemed  to 

drink, 

But  neither  tasted  food  nor  drank  the  wine. 
Anon  their  solemn  eyes  would  meet  and  hold 
And  slowly  turn  away.     Beneath  the  twain 
Down  the  long  table  stretched  a  rich  array 
Of  robber  barons  and  their  paramours 
With  eyes  that  dwelt  on  men  as  thievish  hands 
Dwell  on  a  purse,  and  like  to  forgers  false 
They  coined  their  smiles  of  metal  base  and  made 
Them  current  with  warm  looks  and  velvet  words 
Of  flattery.    Flowers  unfragrant  are  not  flowers 
And  woman  without  modesty  is  not  woman, 
Yet  each  of  these  with  flashing  eyes  and  jewels 
Like  pooled  light,  came  queenly  on  the  eye, 
For  all  were  fair,  and  all  were  gay,  and  some, 
Alas,  were  lovable.     And  Nerys  cried: 
"Ah,  Balin,  wast  thou  ever  under  roof 
With  such  a  host  of  noble  knights  and  throng 
Of  Ladies  bright?" 

"Thou  innocent,  the  mists 
Of  England  fade  them  to  an  angel  white, 
[72] 


BALIN 

But  at  the  heart,  God  wot,  a  gust  of  wind, 
A  whisper  of  dead  leaves.    Now  mark — a  song!" 
Three  times  the  minstrel  struck  his 
harp.      The  trains 

Of  servitors  were  halted;  silence  grew. 
He  sang : 

"A  true  tale  is  proper  for  those  who  think 
Of  saints  and  martyrs  and  men  of  ink 
But  never,  I  wot,  where  goodfellows  drink. 

"Gather  a  circle  by  tavern  fires, 
Herbalists,  pardoners,  mendicant  friars, 
Mighty  drinkers,  mighty  liars. 

"  The  day  is  enough  for  sweating  and  sighing, 
Living,  laboring,  moaning,  dying, 
So  leave  us  the  night  for  loving  and  lying. " 

Loud,  loud  they  shouted  in  applause, 
Laughing  in  one  another's  eyes,  the  lords 
And  ladies,  but  Sir  Balin  saw  the  smile 
Of  Nerys  wane. 

"Dear  lady,  let  us  go. 

I  ween  these  damsels  with  their  cloaks  have  left 
[731 


BALIN 

Their  sober  reputations."     "Nay,  Sir  Balin, 
Thou  art  my  shield  to  cover  me  from  shame." 
"But  men  are  storms,  my  Nerys,  and  in  thee 
The  faint,  religious  light  of  womanhood 
Is  like  a  taper — they  the  braying  wind 
To  quench  it."     "  Nay,  thou  seest,  when  they  lift 
Their  heads  the  glance  of  Balin  chills  their  hearts 
As  it  hath  chilled  mine,  many  a  time."     "My 

ways 
Are  rough,  sweet  child.     No  squire  of  dames  am 

I, 

But  for  thy  sake  I  rooted  up  a  vow 
And  I  foreswore  a  quest,  and  who  shall  say 
If  God  hath  marked  mine  unaccomplished  oath? 
Therefore  I  keep  thee  sacred  as  an  urn 
Of  holy  water.     In  thy  presence,  Nerys, 
My  soul  is  churched,  and  every  time  you  smile 
A  sin  is  shrived." 

Murmuring  into  his  words 
Music  arose  within  a  gallery, 
Whistling  recorders,  rebecs  humming  through — 
The  guitar-fiddles  drew  a  snoring  burden, 
The  wild  loure  rang  above.    At  Balin's  side 
Was  one  who  kept  the  rhythm  with  nodding  head. 
[741 


BALIN 

He  had  the  shallow  eye  that  children  love 
And  while  fair  Nerys  dreamed  into  the  music, 
Of  him  Sir  Balin  asked  what  were  the  twain 
Solemn  and  silent  near  the  king?     At  that 
His  smile  went  out. 

"They  must  be  more  than  beggars, 
But  thou,  sir  stranger,  tell  me  how  thou  readest 
The  mighty  men  sitting  beside  our  king?" 
"I  read  them  dangerous  enemies,"  said  Balin, 
"And  dangerous     friends,     perchance."       The 

anxious  doubt 

Departed  slowly.     Like  a  frightened  gossip 
He  whispered:     "Mark  ye  those,  the  lofty  men, 
Merten  and  his  twin  brother,  Dinas  le  Noir, 
Are  nephews  of  King  Pellam  and  the  heirs 
To  Listeneise.    Age  cometh  on  the  king. 
Of  old  he  kept  the  lists  against  hard  riders, 
His  drinking  song  hath  rung  above  the  chorus, 
And  now,  although  he  cannot  taste  the  wine, 
He  keepeth  ghosts  of  other  years  alive. 
All  day  he  holdeth  revel  and  in  the  night 
Continual  music  murmuring  lest  he  wake 
In  silence.    Noise  of  life  must  never  stop 
In  joust  or  feast  or  at  the  banquet  board, 
[751 


BALIN 

The  fool  becoming  king,  the  king  a  fool. 

Meantime  Lord  Merten  and  black  Dinas  wait 
For  death  and  mark  the  pouring  of  the  wine, 
Blood  from  the  body  of  their  heritage. 
And  when  old  Pellam  dieth,  God  protect 
Fair  Listeneise!"     Therewith   he   drowned   his 

grief 
In  a  deep  cup. 

Meantime  the  feast  grew  wild. 
Thick  wine  of  Spain  or  golden  wine  of  France 
In  goblets  shook  like  yellow  flame  or  red 
That  rose  and  fell  again.    High  overhead 
The  drunken  music  laughed  in  reeling  measures 
While  the  blind  beast  arose  in  every  chair, 
That  stream 

Of  sharpening  voices  to  the  Lady  Nerys 
Was  hardly  more  than  the  dull  roar  of  ocean, 
The  thousand-throated;  rather  she  beheld 
The  gleaming  board.     She  watched  with  lovely 

awe 

How  the  bright  peacock  in  his  feathers  sat, 
Or  fish  with  foolish  eyes,  or  capons  brown 
And  gold,  or  fruit  on  moon-bright  silver  heaped. 
Till  Balin,  following,  by  a  reach  of  mind 
[76] 


BALIN 

Looked  far  into  the  crystal  truth  of  her 
So  that  her  smile  fell  on  him  with  a  hurt 
Of  pity  for  her  beauty  and  his  sins. 

He  said:     "When  Garlon  dies,  we  ride  anew, 
But  whither?"    Lo,  she  lifted  up  her  eyes: 
"Wherever  Balin  wills,"  and  to  the  knight 
Her  voice  was  like  the  first  sweet  minstrel  note 
That  silences  the  hall  and  in  the  silence 
He  knew  she  loved  him.     "There  is  a  place  I 

know; 

Far  south,  far  south  the  vineyards  climb  the  hills 
In  ranks,  well-drilled.    Along  the  plain  the  wheat 
Is  taller  than  my  sword,  and  overhead 
God  hangs  a  bluer  sky  for  Italy. 
There  is  the  place  for  thee.    Ay,  there's  the  place 
Where  the  white  road  is  tossing  in  the  hills 
And  the  wind  bringeth  singing  from  the  village. " 
He  raised  his  hand  as  if,  into  his  mind, 
The  Italian  quiet  poured,  the  Italian  song. 
Upon  the  passion  of  his  warrior  face 
The  lady  dreamed;  she,  too,  had  heard  the  music, 
And  Balin  whispered:     "Nerys,  in  my  hands 
Time  is  a  treasure  pouring;  and  yet  I  fear! 
Behold,  I  love  thee  so  I  think  of  death, 
[77] 


BALIN 

Thou  art  so  spiritlike.    Thou  seemest  one 
Whose  journey  on  the  dark  earth  is  nearly  ended, 
For  dimly  on  thy  face  the  light  is  playing." 
And  she:     "Ah,  Balin,  Balin,  thou  hast  let 
The  music  flow  upon  thy  heart  and  thence 
Re-echo  into  words.    Tell  me  no  more, 
For  a  great  tide  is  setting  towards  thee,  setting 
Beyond  my  power  to  stem  it."    While  he  leaned 
To  gather  every  word  that  formed  and  fell 
On  those  red  lips,  behold,  her  glance  was  fixed 
As  one  who  wakens  with  the  nightmare  great 
Within  his  eyes.     She  whispered:     "There  he 

stands ! 

He  with  the  black  face  speaking  to  the  king — 
Garlon,  and  Pellam  smiles!"    Sir  Balin  looked 
And  saw  a  stark  man  by  the  throne, 
A  tall  and  mighty  man,  his  body  bright 
In  crimson  velvet  and  in  purple  cloaked; 
The  value  of  a  barony  was  poured 
In  glittering  jewels  encrusted  on  his  robe 
And  when  he  turned,  the  long  hilt  by  his  side 
Burned  sanguine  red  with  rubies.    In  the  throne 
The   monster  Pellam  lolled  indulgent  towards 

him 

[781 


BALIN 

As  one  awaiting  stories  in  accord 
With  his  own  mind;  but  him  the  warrior 
Regarded  not,  turning  impatient  eyes 
About  the  table.     As  the  towering  hawk 
Disdains  to  stoop  at  field  mice,  so  his  glance 
Hungry  and  scornful  lingered  on  the  faces 
Until  it  reached  Sir  Balin.     There  it  stopped 
And  their  eyes  clashed  like  thrusting  blades.    He 

spoke 

A  word  in  Pellam's  ear,  who  leaned  to  watch, 
Grinning,  while  Garlon  stalked  around  the  table. 
Meantime  the  Lady  Nerys  breathed:  "Arise 
And  bring  me  hence,  for  if  he  see  my  face 
There  will  be  wicked  work.    Ah,  swiftly,  Balin!" 
But  Balin  touched  her  hand  and  in  his  beard 
He  spoke:     "If  he  escape  me  now  our  work 
Is  wasted.    If  I  stab  him  in  the  hall 
Of  Pellam  I  am  lost.    The  fiend  advise  me!" 
So  Garlon  came  and  bent  his  gloomy  head. 
"Wherefore   dost   thou   behold    me?     Eat   thy 

food," 

He  said,  "do  that  thou  earnest  for,  and  keep 
Thy  staring  eyes  on  humbler  faces,  knave!" 
His  velvet  glove,  brocaded  heavily, 
[791 


BALIN 

He  struck  in  Balin's  face,  while  lord  and  lady 
Suspended  their  bright  goblets  to  behold, 
But  Balin  felt  only  the  heart  of  Nerys 
Beating  in  fear  beside  him.     For  her  sake 
He  must  endure.    He  raised  his  hand.    A  thread 
Of  gold  had  pricked  his  mouth ;  his  fingertip 
Was  bright  with  blood  that  seemed,  in  his  fierce 

eyes 

To  blur  with  crimson  the  hushed  banqueters, 
And  Nerys,  gentle  Nerys,  was  forgotten. 
"Garlon, "  he  said,  "art  thou  not  wolf  enough 
To  smell  a  death  in  this?    Look  now  behind  me, 
And  see  the  ghost  of  Perin,  murderer, 
Slayer  by  dark."     Before  he  ended,  bright 
The  sword  of  Garlon  issued  and  he  struck 
In  murderous  silence.     No  firm-handed  parry 
Could  turn  the  bent  of  that  prodigious  stroke 
But  Balin  slipped  aside  as  a  dead  leaf 
Avoids  the  beating  hand.    Beside  him  poured 
The  solid  flash  of  the  descending  steel 
That  struck  the  chair  and  shattered  it.     The 

blade 

Was  lodged  in  massy  oak;  no  wise  it  skilled 
Sir  Garlon  that  he  strained  far  back  and  shrieked 
[80] 


BALIN 

At  the  flash  and  silver  brightness  of  the  death 
That  balanced  now  upon  the  blade  of  Balin, 
Then  slid  into  his  bosom.    Loosely  he  fell, 
And  falling  snapped  the  sword-blade  at  the  hilt 
And  lay  immense  and  shapeless  on  the  floor. 

Quiet  of  midnight  came,  and  every  face 
A   midnight   ghost.      The   music   stopped,   but 

seemed 

Far  off,  still  playing,  and  the  servitors 
In  mid-step  hung.    The  lady  paused — half -risen, 
Like   the   graceful   reed   bowed   in   the   steady 

wind — 

Above  his  wineglass  with  enormous  eyes 
The  drunkard  stared,  and  the  wild  jester's  laugh 
To  horror  froze.    The  ring  of  the  breaking  sword 
Hummed  to  a  distance  and  was  still — the  spell 
At  once  dissolved.    The  lady  veiled  her  eyes, 
The  drunkard  spilled  his  wine,  the  jester  shrieked 
And  rising  from  his  throne  with  shining  robes 
Of  white  about  him  blowing,  Pellam  ran 
With  a  grim  weapon  caught  above  his  head. 
"Vengeance   is    mine!"    he   cried.     "No   other 

strike!" 

Then  Balin  cast  away  the  unbalanced  pommel, 
[81] 


BALIN 

Gathered  the  face  of  Nerys  to  his  heart 
With  a  last  look,  and  fled. 


IV 


First  to  the  door 

Through  which  he  entered  Balin  ran,  but  lo, 
Before  his  coming  the  lofty  panels  wheeled 
Together.    In  their  midst  he  cast  his  weight 
And  the  stout  oak  shuddered  and  flung  him  back 
Under  the  sway  of  Pellam's  sword.    He  veered 
Like  a  dust-column  in  a  pool  of  wind. 

Tumult   poured   through   the   hall, 
with  flash  of  steel 

And  rush  of  color  save  where  Dinas  sat, 
And  Merten,  the  dark  brothers,  all  unmoved. 
Yet  in  the  outcry  and  the  gleam  of  weapons 
A  path  opened  to  Balin  to  a  door 
Guarded  by  snarling  lions  in  red  stone. 
Through  this  he  sprang.    Behind,  the  sea  of  noise 
Which  washed  from  wall  to  wall  of  the  banquet- 
room 

Roared  far  away,  but  ever  Pellam  came 
With  jarring  footfall. 

[821 


BALIN 

Then  a  poniard  small 
Had  been  a  treasure  in  Sir  Balin's  hand 
While  through  chambers  of  whispering  tapestries 
He  rushed,  and  halls  of  rich  mosaic  work 
Like  precious  jewels  inlaid.    By  seven  kings 
Old  Listeneise  was  builded.    Seven  times 
The  treasures  of  a  generation  drained 
And  stored  by  kings;  as  milk-white  hands  may 

drop 

Among  the  shadows  of  the  jewel-casket 
Emeralds,  bleeding  rubies,  liquid  drops 
Of  moonlight  men  call  pearls — so  kingly  hands 
In  Listeneise  dropped  treasure.     Under  foot 
Of  Balin  lights  in  polished  marble  lived 
As  stars  in  black,  black  water.    On  each  side 
The  placid  statues  looked  upon  his  flight; 
The  hero  frowned,  the  bearded  thinker  pondered, 
The  nymph  gathered  her  icy  robes  and  smiled. 
He  saw  her  as  a  dream,  and  all  the  wealth 
Poured  past  him  like  a  vision.     Only  the  voice 
Of  Pellam  thundering,  the  rushing  feet 
And  the  deadly  emptiness  of  his  hands  was  real. 
Far  through  a  crooked  corridor  he  fled 
Up  to  a  bolted  oaken  door  with  script 
[831 


BALIN 

Of  antique  Latin  legended.    That  way 

Was  closed,  and  fierce  behind  the  mountain-bulk 

Of  Pellam  came  full  lightly  with  his  beard 

Divided  by  the  wind  of  running.    Rage 

Had  nerved  him;  glorying  he  came  and  swung 

The  long  blade  at  a  balance  for  the  stroke. 

Behind  was  many  a  silken,  hurrying  foot 

And  overhead,  like  sparks  blown  from  his  cloak, 

Poniard  and  falchion  gleamed  in  the  dim  hall. 

Anguish  got  hold  on  Balin,  for  he  thought 
Of  stalwart  warriors  talking  at  their  wine 
Of  battle-glory  and  of  battle-death 
In  the  open  field,  but  famous  Balin  stabbed 
Like  a  poisonous  rat  and  thrown  out  to  the 

wolves 

Without  the  rites  of  burial,  the  priest 
In  sable  and  the  holy  candles  wan 
Which  light  the  way  to  heaven.    Out  of  grief 
Came  goodly  might.     He  seized  the  latch  and 

heard 

The  groan  of  iron,  the  rending  of  stout  oak — 
The  door  flew  wide. 

It  showed  a  marvel  rare, 
A  noble  room  with  the  green  samite  hung 
[841 


BALIN 

And  golden  fringes  deep.    Upon  a  bed 

Lay  one  with  fleshless  hands  and  shadow  eyes. 

A  silver  table  shone  on  either  side 

With  Persian  fretwork  delicate.    The  one 

A  lighted  taper  bore  that  touched  with  yellow 

The  curtain-folds  and  glimmered  on  the  fringe; 

The  other  raised  a  vase  of  midnight  blue, 

The  lapis  lazuli  with  gold  enwrought, 

And  a  spear  leaned  beside  it,  short  of  haft, 

Ponderous.     That  he  seized  and  from  his  heart 

Gave  up  deep  thanks.     Curiously  the  shaft 

Was  weighted,  overlaid  from  butt  to  head 

With  golden  figures  moving  in  a  frieze 

That  twisted  scrollwise.     Little  heed  he  gave 

To  that  mysterious  processional 

For  now  King  Pellam,  shouting,  passed  the  door 

And  Balin  smote  the  hollow  of  his  throat 

Through  flesh  and  sinew,  choking  the  deep  shriek 

With  which  he  fell  and  died,  and  all  the  throng 

With  shouts  that  set  the  corridor  bellowing 

Rushed  to  avenge  their  king. 

No  fear  was  thine, 

O  Balin,  in  that  hour  of  dread.     Thy  heel 
Was  based  on  Pellam's  breast;  thy  dripping  spear 
[85] 


BALIN 

Tugged  forth  thou  shookest  high  and  cast  the 

spray 

Of  crimson  in  their  faces  pale.     They  shrank 
As  though  before  a  blinding  thunderbolt, 
Crying:    "The  lance  that  pierced  the  Lord — the 

spear 
That  slew  the  Christ!" 

Up  the  storm-blackened  cliff 
So  roars  the  wave,  then  falls  away  in  whispers — 
The  solid  light  of  weapons  split  apart, 
The  quivering  swords  fell  down.     Behold,  they 

kneeled 

And  watched  and  spoke  not.    Deadly  silence  held 
The  castle  save  the  breathing  of  the  wind 
Far  off,  and  evermore  the  living  eyes 
And  the  dead  face  of  him  upon  the  bed 
Were  pouring  fear  on  Balin  till  he  fled 
As  armies  flee  at  night — blind  through  the  crowd 
And  blindly  through  the  palace  till  he  reached 
An  outer  court  and,  crossing,  climbed  the  wall 
Above  the  moat. 

Thereby  the  panic  left  his  brain 
For  he  saw  the  distant  shining  of  the  stars 
And  looking  down  their  images  lay  cold 
[86] 


BALIN 

And  quiet  in  the  water.    The  wall  was  high, 

Narrow  the  moat,  and  in  the  perilous  leap 

His   safety   hung.     Meantime   the   court    gave 

voice 

Below  where  the  pursuit  was  flooding  thick 
And  the  wild  torchlight  darted  upon  spear 
And  helmet-spike,  and  in  the  lofty  night 
At  the  red  casements  shadows  flickering 
That  shook  their  weapons  at  him.     Into  the 

court 

He  flung  the  spear  and  saw  the  clamoring  throng 
Close  over  it  like  wolves  over  the  dead, 
Yelling,  and  Balin  turned  him  for  his  leap. 
Two  memories  stood  beside  him:     Lady  Nerys, 
And  that  great  day  of  battle  when  his  lance 
Had  slain  a  king  whose  fall  destroyed  a  host 
And  with  those  memories  making  great  his  heart 
He  sprang,  a  dizzy  fall  that  blurred  the  stars, 
Clove  through  the  cold  black  water,  and  crushed 

his  side 

Upon  the  rocks  beneath.    With  feeble  arms, 
Wavering  and  slowly  Balin  rose  and  lay 
Among  the  surface  slime.     There,  gasping  deep, 
He  drank  the  blessed  air.    Meantime  the  wall 
[871 


BALIN 

Was  crested  by  a  multitude  of  lights 

And  voices  calling,  but  anon  they  left 

The  water  to  give  up  its  dead  by  day. 

The  torches  dwindled  from  the  height;  he  heard 

No  sound  except  the  far  off  mustering 

Of  men.    The  quavering  chorus  of  the  frogs 

At  last  began,  and  night  closed  placidly. 


Then  Balin  dragged  him  from  the  slime  in  pain 
And  like  a  reptile  crushed  in  half  its  length 
He  labored  down  the  slope  until  he  came 
Between  two  houses.    One  was  tall  and  proud 
And  one  a  hut,  but  through  its  open  door 
The  hearthlight  stepped  a  pace  into  the  night. 
Sir  Balin  thought:     "This  man  hath  many  a 

place 

To  hide  me,  but  his  place  is  built  aloft 
And  every  day  he  tremble th  for  his  fall. 
Yonder  is  one  whose  back  hath  felt  the  whip; 
He  will  be  tender  unto  pain."    He  went 
With  straining  shoulders.     In  the  muddy  yard 
The  swine  came,  grunting,  and  a  trembling  cur 
[88] 


BALIN 

Sniffed  at  his  wound,  and  whined.     He  reached 

the  door 

And  saw  the  family  squatting  on  the  earth, 
A  sire  with  forelock  dropping  past  his  eyes, 
A  mother  famine  thin,  and  three  tall  sons, 
A  mighty  growth  out  of  so  meager  soil. 
A  pot  smoked  in  their  midst  and  in  its  depths 
They  reached  in  hungry  silence  till  the  crone 
Saw  Balin  and  cried  out.     Thereat  they  shrank 
And  the  five  shadows  melted  on  the  wall 
Into  one  quivering  monster.     Feebly  spoke 
Sir  Balin,  for  the  bleeding  drained  his  life: 
"Comrades,  I  flee  the  king  and  die.     Give  help 
In  Jesus  name!"     Alas,  through  tangled  hair 
Their  eyes  glittered;  the  shadow  on  the  wall 
Grew  thick  as  a  bunched  spider.    Then  arose 
The  eldest  son.    He  was  a  man  of  mark. 
His  form  was  large,  his  brow  was  wide  and  calm, 
He  had  an  eye  that  glanced  into  the  mind; 
He  stood  as  in  a  marsh  of  rotted  shrubs 
One    soundly    rooted    tree.      "My    lord,    what 

strength 

Have  we  to  shield  thee?     Turn  ye  otherwhere." 
Now  weakness  took  Sir  Balin.    On  his  ear 
[89] 


BALIN 

Their  voices  dropped  in  murmurs  and  the  fire 

Became  a  star  shining  through  rosy  mist. 

Still  through  the  gathering  gloom  he  saw  that 

face 

Wherein  the  spirit  rose.     To  him  he  cried, 
Putting  his  fortune  in  the  single  cast: 
"Come  to  me,  lad,  I  bleed!"     Lo,  through  the 

dark 

That  noble  youth  drew  near,  and  Balin  felt 
Strong  hands.     Then  all  the  light  went  out. 

Relay 

In  sleepy  madness  of  delirium 
With  visions  of  young  Nerys  by  the  hands 
Of  foes  beset,  or  of  a  nightmare  world 
Of  mighty  falling  cities,  towers  and  walls 
That  melted  in  a  storm  of  cries. 

He  woke. 
The  hand  he  raised  was  thin.     The  beard  he 

touched 

Was  wild.    Sure  he  had  wandered  long  in  sleep 
For  he  was  weak  and  to  himself  was  strange, 
And  as  a  brook  may  fill  a  forest  old 
With  voices,  so  a  thought  possessed  him  ever 
Of  Nerys  melancholy,  Nerys  lost. 
[90] 


BALIN 

The  woman  of  the  hovel  gave  him  food. 

He  saw  a  wonder  thing,  that  while  he  slept 

Her  hair  had  blanched  and  that  her  lips  were 

locked. 
Even  when  he  questioned  why  her  sons  and 

spouse 

Remained  so  long  away,  her  very  eyes 
Were  dumb;  and  all  the  days  they  spent  in  silence. 
The  town  was  silent  also.     Never  a  horn 
Blew  from  the  castle  nor  wains  moved  in  the 

street 

Nor  busy  voices  traded  all  the  day. 
At  eventime  cross-legged  in  the  door 
The  woman  sat,  first  looking  to  the  height 
Then  down  upon  the  valley  till  he  asked 
What  things  she  saw  and  how  the  misty  night 
Was  drifting  over  yellow  harvest  fields 
And  wherefore  neither  cattle  lowed  nor  cocks 
Were   crowing  from  the    barnyard.     She    was 

silent. 

He  dragged  him  with  long  labor  to  the  door. 
Behold!  the  donjon  keep  and  solid  towers 
Of  Listeneise  were  vanished  from  the  sky. 
A  granite  lintel  vast  lay  near  the  hut 
[91] 


BALIN 

And  a  huge  rubble  of  fire-blackened  stone 
Rolled   down   the   hill   and   washed   across  the 

town 

Where  ruins  were  pitched  headlong  at  the  feet 
Of  standing  skeletons.     For  nothing  lived, 
And  all  the  valley,  all  the  autumn  bronze 
Of  grain  and  flush  of  orchards  ripe  was  dust 
Of  ashes. 

Then  the  woman  spoke.    She  told 
How  Merten  and  black  Dinas  by  the  stroke 
That  slew  the  king  were  loosed  upon  the  realm, 
Gathering  armies;  so  her  men  were  taken, 
And  the  princes  battled  across  Listeneise. 
Each  what  he  could  not  hold  would  fain  destroy, 
Trailing  in  his  retreat  a  screen  of  fire, 
Then,  rallied  to  some  desperate  night  assault 
The  fugitive  became  the  conqueror, 
And  the  combatants  roved,  marking  their  steps 

with  flame  s 

Of  villages,  field,  and  forest.    While  she  talked 
He  saw  pale  smoke  against  the  far  horizon 
And  bowed  his  heart,  for  every  column  white 
That  melted  in  the  sky  rose  from  the  death 
Of  Pellam.    God  assoil  him  of  that  sin! 
[92] 


BALIN 

By  small  degrees    and  slow  his  strength 
returned. 

Upon  a  day  it  chanced,  roving  afield, 
He  came  upon  the  ruins  of  a  home 
Whereby  a  charger  mourned,  a  lofty  steed 
Black  as  midnight,  saddled  and  trapped  for  war. 
Haply  he  left  his  master  on  the  field 
Of  battle  and  now  waited  for  his  voice 
In  the  old  place.    He  came  to  Balin's  hand 
And  the  knight  took  him  as  a  sign  from  God. 
He  found  in  ruined  Listeneise  a  store 
Of  armor  rusted  thin,  a  battered  shield, 
A  shapeless  helmet  dinted  by  many  a  blow, 
And  having  clad  himself  in  tarnished  mail 
Mounted  the  horse  and  bade  the  crone  farewell. 
But  she,  looking  beyond,  where  Listeneise 
Was  crumbling,  nodded  and  muttered  to  herself 
And  heard  him  not.    Thereat  he  loosed  the  reins 
And  the  black  horse  ran  freely  down  the  valley. 

VI 

He  went  as  straight  as  birds  out  of  the  north 
Winging  to  summer  lands,  for  now  he  rode 
To  keep  a  tryst,  knowing  where  Nerys  waited. 
[93] 


BALIN 

He  went  with  ashes  blowing  from  the  fields 

Upon  him.    In  the  empty  eventide 

The  smoke  of  pillage  wavered  spirit-thin 

Across  the  coming  stars,  and  on  the  road 

Were  solitary  ancients  with  their  staffs 

Or  women  with  starved  children  at  their  skirts 

Drew  back  and  watched  the  armored  man  in 

fear; 

And  all  of  this  came  from  the  death  of  Pellam. 
If  God  beheld  the  deeds  of  man,  in  truth 
A  curse  must  follow! 

Glad  he  was  to  pass 
From  Listeneise  into  the  wilderness 
Until  he  reached  the  chapel  at  the  crossing 
Where  Perin  slept.    Here  Nerys  keepeth  tryst, 
Be  sure !     The  priest  was  singing  in  the  garden 
But  seeing  Balin,  cast  aloft  his  arms: 
"Ah,  Jesus,  mercy,  are  the  dead  arisen?" 
"  Good  father,  she  is  here ! "    "  Yea,  brother,  yea, 
She  lieth  here."     Loudly  Sir  Balin  laughed. 
"Ye  saints  behold  me.    Priest,  look  up!    I  vow 
A  noble  abbey  in  this  place  shall  rise 
And  thou  the  father  abbot.    Ah,  my  heart ! " 
Therewith  he  ran,  and  bursting  wide  the  doors 
[941 


BALIN 

A  wind  behind  him  entered  with  dead  leaves. 
And  Balin  crying:     "Nerys,  my  Lady  Nerys  !'r 
Out  of  the  sudden  silence  of  the  chapel 
An  echo  struck  at  him,  and  from  his  niche 
The  saint  with  downward  eyes  and  praying  hands 
Commanded  quiet.    Then  he  saw  a  grave 
Where  seven  bayberry  candles  lately  burned, 
But  with  the  wind  of  Balin's  coming  dead, 
From  every  candle  rose  a  ghost  of  white 
And  went  among  the  shadows  of  the  dome 
Like  seven  thoughts  between  the  day  and  night. 
A  fragrance  from  the  tapers  grew,  no  breath 
Of  churchly  incense  meaning  burial 
But  earthly  pure  and  perfume  of  the  earth 
When  after  rain  a  blessed  scent  of  life 
Goes  up  from  whispering  lawns  that  still  are 

drinking, 

Cold  wild  flowers  and  the  hawthorn  hedges  wet. 
Then  Balin  groaned  and  stretched  his  empty 

hands 

For  now,  behold  the  pallid  candle-smoke 
Attending  her  like  seven  prayers  to  heaven 
And  he  was  left  below.    Nay,  in  his  thought 
She  stood  behind  him  and  with  aching  heart 
[95] 


BALIN 

He  listened  to  a  pause  and  stir  of  breath 
Until,  in  agony,  he  dared  not  turn. 
Something  of  her  was  near  but  oceans  broad 
Between  them  mourned  and  cold  infinity 
Of  stars.     So  God  had  judged  him. 

Then  he  rose. 

He  left  the  chapel,  he  saw  the  garden  bloom 
And  the  naked  autumn  forest  piled  in  mist 
Glorious  with  morning  like  his  lady's  face. 
The  white  road  gleamed  upon  the  distant  hills 
Where  they  had  ridden  together.     Yonder  lark 
That  whistled  in  the  sky,  lo,  how  her  eyes 
Went  up  to  follow  it ! 

Let  this  be  known, 

That  God  gives  wisdom  to  the  comforter. 
The  gentle  priest  spoke  not  of  mortal  change 
And  common  destiny,  but  like  a  child 
He  told  how  Nerys  came,  a  weary  woman, 
And  neither  bread  she  ate  nor  wine  she  drank 
But  water  only  from  the  holy  well. 
Ever  she  murmured:     "Father,  he  is  dead 
For  me  that  was  the  salt  and  savor  of  life; 
Balin  is  dead,  and  for  him  I  shall  die." 
He  told  her,  weeping,  this  was  mortal  sin, 
[961 


BALIN 

But  then  she  smiled  and  raised  her  hand  as  one 
Lessoning  a  child.    "Dear  father,  every  day 
The  Lord  poureth  His  will  upon  the  world; 
Sorrow  unlocked  my  heart  and  let  the  rain 
Of  quiet  enter.    Foolish  man,  be  sure 
I  heard  the  wish  of  God."    And  so  she  reached 
A  twilight,  wasting  slowly.    At  the  end 
She  felt  those  arms  about  her  that  are  death 
And  took  a  waxen  taper  from  his  hand 
And  as  she  died,  raised  it  as  though  to  light 
Her  first  step  in  the  dark. 

VII 

All  day  he  kept 

A  vigil  in  the  pleasant  garden  walks. 
At  night  the  stars  looked  through  the  naked 

forest 

And  he  was  open  to  the  cold  eyes  of  God. 
He  thought  in  vain  of  glories  old,  and  praise. 
The  horns  that  sounded  once  on  famous  fields 
Blew  thin  and  far.    The  knights  in  noble  ranks 
Rode  shadowlike  upon  his  memory. 
Nerys  was  dead,  and  through  his  fingers  poured 
His  life,  loose  sand. 

[97] 


BALIN 

About  the  middle  hour 

Of  night  the  moon  arose.     It  made  the  woods 
Both  tall  and  black  and  through  the  forest  went 
A  white  road,  winding.    Then  Sir  Balin  mounted 
And  the  good  priest  beheld  him  take  the  way 
And  follow  it  over  the  eastern-hill 
Where  the  road  vanished  in  a  silver  mist. 


[98] 


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